Where It's Always 1895
by Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Told I was likely to offend many with my "Forgive Me, Benedict", I set out to write something a tad less offensive-with every squick I could think of in it. It didn't get written. Needless to say, I *did* end up with *this* highly offensive piece, but it's all crack. I wrote funny implied tentacle rape. If you can't handle that, please don't read! Also bad words. Possible sequel.


When he arrives at the pool, he is expecting Moriarty. What he sees instead is his flatmate, wearing an overly large olive green coat from the Old Navy discount rack.

"John?"

John tilts his head down and to the right. "Obviously," he says in a mocking baritone. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Sherlock. I really am. But I want your coat."

"My coat?"

"Oh, I do so hate repeating myself. Yes. I. Want. That. Coat. And I tried all the shops and you know what they told me?"

Apparently it is not a rhetorical question; John sighs and asks again. "I said, do you know what they told me?! I really do hate repeating myself Sherlock, I really, really do," he mutters.

"It's… discontinued?," he offers.

"Damn right it is. Belstaff doesn't make one like that anymore. And I searched all over. In stores. Online. They make them to order in China, but they always mess up the pocket placement or that really cool vent in the back doesn't … billow… yes, billow, quite right. But I found one! And do you know how much the bloody thing costs?!"

Sherlock wasn't going to risk not answering this time. He shook his head.

"1,000 pounds Sherlock. That's half a fuckin' ton. So. I want yours." There is a shift in John's posture, his accent, his whole being. "I know it'll be a bit big, but there's a good tailor on the Lower East Side who does great alterations for a very reasonable price. Moshe's: Where it's always $18.95."

Sherlock has just gotten over the fact that his flatmate and best friend is, in actuality, a criminal mastermind. As disconcerting as that is, he has already accepted it. But this, this is even more startling. Half a ton? Lower East Side? $18.95?

"John? You're not even British?"

"Nope. I'm from Lake Ronkonkoma. It's on Long Island." Sherlock gives him a blank stare. "In New York. The part off Manhattan that looks like a fish? It's kind of in the belly of…oh never mind." Sherlock slumped his head down, chin to his chest. How did he miss this?

"But your tea…," he manages to push out of his lips, barely more than a whisper.

"Is consistently the wrong temperature," he interrupted. "I never did get the hang of letting the water get to a good rolling boil first. But you wouldn't notice, now would you? By the time you get around to drinking it, it's always gone cold anyway. Changing "fuckin'" to "bloody" wasn't hard. Honestly, the hardest part is remembering to call that goddamned medicine paracetamol instead of Tylenol. The accent is easy if you watch enough 'Doctor Who'."

He should have noticed. He should have noticed.

"Oh, there you are!" John was looking over Sherlock's shoulder towards the pool when he heard it. A soft, rustling noise, growing louder by the second. He turned around and saw churning waves. "Allow me to introduce my collegue... and when I say "colleague" I mean friend and potential fuck buddy... Moran," says John. "He didn't like 'Doctor Who'. He just watched reruns of 'The Weakest Link' and 'Gordon Ramsey' all day long. At first I thought he watched Ramsey for the way he yells at everyone, but now that I know him better, I think he just liked to watch him debone fish." The purplish mass was moving closer, and suddenly a large tentacle reached up and landed on Sherlock's shoulder. It gave him what was almost a caress. "Oh, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he just has a thing for arrogant pricks," John smirked.

Oh. Oh….

"Hey, would you do me a solid and grab that coat for me? Cool, thanks." Two tentacles grabbed the coat and began removing it from his shoulders "Hey, hey, careful with that! Try not to drip so much."

Sherlock was stunned. He tried to get a better look at the source of the tentacles, but another two wrapped around his body, effectively immobilizing him. After handing over the coat it made quick work of his jacket and purple shirt. The buttons popped easily.

"What is it with you tentacle guys? Don't you ever think of anything else to do with those things besides stick them up someone's ass? Oh well. I'm going to the dry cleaners before the chlorine damages the fabric. I'd hang around for a bit, but I'm still not gay. Have fun. Laters!"


End file.
